The Jennifer McMahon E-Book Bundle

by Jennifer McMahon

  “What?” Phoebe asked.

  Lisa giggled, put her hand over her mouth.

  They crossed the grass and walked around to the front of the large, two-story gray brick building. The front of the library looked very grand to Phoebe: two polished granite columns stood on either side of the doorway; large stone steps led up to it. Above the doors, an ornate carving in stone of a torch.

  “Beautiful building,” Phoebe said.

  Sam nodded. “Classical Revival,” he said. It was yet another display of his seemingly unending knowledge that both made her proud and made her feel very small. Maybe if she had gone to college she would have learned about building styles and understand what Classical Revival meant. They could have intelligent discussions about things like rooflines and columns. Phoebe touched her belly and felt suddenly light-headed. She’d skipped breakfast yet again. She was supposed to be filling her body with healthy, baby-growing food, taking prenatal vitamins, drinking milk and shakes with protein powder. Instead, she’d gulped down half a cup of black coffee at Franny’s that now churned in her stomach. She was one hell of a mommy-to-be.

  Sam grabbed one of the double doors and held it open, shepherding Lisa and Phoebe inside. They walked through a beautiful entryway with long curving staircases to the right and left. On the walls around the stairs were portraits—serious men and women painted in oil, scowling down from heavy, ornate frames. A hall of faces.

  They walked through the entryway and found themselves in the reference area. A homeless-looking man with a long gray beard and stained army fatigue coat was reading Popular Mechanics and chewing on a large wrapped Tootsie Roll. He looked up from his magazine, nodded in their direction. A kid in a black T-shirt, jeans, and combat boots was on the computer and an old man in golf clothes was reading the paper.

  They continued on, to a small dark room of stacks. Phoebe looked up and saw that the floor above was glass. She saw a shadow move across it, quick and dark, like an animal. Her body was covered in warning gooseflesh.

  The smell of old books filled her nostrils, and, feeling dizzy, she tried taking deep breaths through her mouth. They stepped out of the small room of books and were at the circulation desk.

  A woman with a long gray braid and silver and turquoise earrings looked up from the computer, smiling.

  “May I help you?”

  Sam produced the tattered library card from his pocket, but the librarian didn’t have a chance to look at it before she caught sight of Lisa.

  “Mary!” she cried. “I’ve been thinking about you. How are you? How’s the baby?”

  Lisa smiled shyly, looked down at the floor.

  “She’s Mary Stevens?” Sam said, showing the librarian the card. She nodded.

  “I’m her brother, Sam,” he said. “And it’s been a while since she’s been in contact with her family. We’re trying to figure out where she’s been living. Did she show you ID to get the card?”

  The librarian shook her head. “I’m not sure. All that’s required is a piece of mail with a name and address on it.”

  “So would you have her address?” Sam asked.

  The librarian looked at him skeptically. “Is that all right with you, Mary? If I tell him?”

  Lisa nodded.

  “Is the baby all right?” the librarian whispered.

  “I hope so,” Sam told her.

  “She started bringing him in a few weeks ago. The sweetest little thing. Hardly made a sound. Such a good baby.”

  “Here it is,” she said, peering at the computer. “Mary Stevens. Huh. That’s odd.”

  “What is it?” Sam asked.

  “It’s just a post office box. We’re not supposed to give a card with just a post office box.”

  “Thanks for checking,” Sam said, discouraged by the dead end.

  “Did she ever come here with anyone?” Phoebe asked. “Other than the baby, I mean.”

  “Sometimes there was a woman who’d come to get her at the end of the day. We always figured she was Mary’s, you know, caregiver. She was so gentle with her. She’d just whisper in Mary’s ear and she’d get up and go.”

  “Do you know who she was?” Sam asked.

  “No. And I haven’t seen her lately. She’s maybe thirty or so. Kind of average height. Dark hair and eyes. Thin. Really thin . . . Eve! That’s what Mary called her. Her name was Eve.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Lisa

  JUNE 15, FIFTEEN YEARS AGO

  “Keep your eyes closed,” a voice whispered. A male voice, raspy and musical as a woodwind instrument. It sounded as if he was speaking from just above her, but through some sort of tunnel. “If you open them, I’ll go away forever.”

  Lisa nodded. Did as she was told. Her skin was buzzing with the relief that it was finally happening. He was here.

  “Do you understand?” he asked, his voice whispery and light, like wind through dry grass. “I mean it. Keep. Your. Eyes. Closed.”

  Lisa nodded. Her face felt tight and sticky from the tears drying on it.

  “Good girl,” he said. “Good, good, good girl.”

  The air was suddenly sweet, heavy with the scent of flowers she could not name. The smell caught in the back of her throat, made her feel dizzy. She was sure that if she stood, she’d fall back down.

  She held up her wrist, the charm bracelet jingling a little. “I got your gifts. The penny and the medal and the book. Thank you.”

  He said nothing.

  “You’re a fairy, right?” Lisa asked.

  There was quiet laughter.

  “Are you Teilo? King of the Fairies?”

  Silence. If she concentrated hard, she could hear him breathing. His smell was so strong and sweet, like honeysuckle, only richer. Her head spun. She was afraid she might faint or fall asleep. Her eyelids felt heavy, glued shut. She couldn’t open them if she wanted to.

  “Yes,” he said at last. “Fairy King. Lizard King. King of Rock and Roll. Queen Bee buzz-buzz-buzzing in your ear. Everything and nothing. That’s what I am.”

  What if Evie was right? What if this was a trap and the King of the Fairies was going to steal her away or cast a spell on her so that she’d sleep for a thousand years?

  She found she didn’t care. He was here, and it was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to her. He was more real to her than anything else in her so-called real life back at home. He had come, just as he promised.

  And she knew then what she wanted. She was more sure of this than she had ever been of anything.

  “I want to cross over,” she told him. “I read the book. I know what to do—I’ll fast and make the tea. Midsummer’s Eve is next week. Please, Teilo. Please say I can come with you!”

  He was quiet. The leaves rustled. Was he leaving? Doing a little dance? She wished she could open her eyes, but she remembered what it said in The Book of Fairies: if a human being looks upon the true face of a fairy, they’ll be driven mad.

  Maybe that’s what happened to Da. Maybe he came down here, to the back side of the hill, and met a fairy. And if that was true, then maybe they could fix him. If she crossed over, went into their world, maybe she could find a way to convince them to make him well again.

  “Please, Teilo. I want to come with you. To your world. I’ve never wanted anything so much. I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life for this, like it’s my destiny. Please say yes, Teilo. Please.”

  His breath made a funny, jagged sound. “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes.”

  She smiled, felt glittery and golden, a shiny bauble of a girl. She was fulfilling her destiny, like a girl in a fairy tale. Leaving behind the shoddy mortal world of lies and betrayal, of being misunderstood and mistreated.

  “How do I know I’m not dreaming?” she asked, her voice sounding far away to her own ears. Like someone else was saying it from th
e end of a long, narrow hallway. “Or imagining all this, like Sammy thinks. How do I know you’re even real?”

  She felt a hand reach down and touch her shoulder, give it a squeeze. She reached her own hand up and took his.

  “Eyes closed,” he warned, his breath warm on her ear.

  She took his hand in hers, felt his fingers long, cool, and dry. She studied each one with her own fingers, thinking this is what it’s like when you’re blind. Thumb, pointer, middle, ring, pinkie, pinkie.

  She counted them again to be sure.

  It was true. There were six.

  CHAPTER 38

  Phoebe

  JUNE 13, PRESENT DAY

  “Evie!” Phoebe said as they hurried back down the steps of the library. “Is Evie Teilo?”

  Lisa giggled vacantly.

  “Evie’s pretty clever, but I somehow doubt she was able to make Lisa pregnant,” Sam said.

  “Then who?”

  “I don’t know. But whoever it is, Evie’s protecting him. She’s deep into this and has been all along. Agoraphobic my ass.”

  Phoebe couldn’t believe she’d let herself be fooled. She’d felt sorry for Evie, tried to help her. She’d even confided in her about the pregnancy! “We’ve gotta go talk to her,” Phoebe said.

  They jumped back in the car and pulled away. Phoebe looked out the window as they drove past an auto repair shop, the back side of a run-down apartment building, where an old woman in a turquoise sunhat was sitting in a plastic lawn chair, sipping from a forty-ounce bottle of beer. She stuck her tongue down inside the bottle neck each time she took a gulp. Phoebe’s stomach churned. She remembered the old woman at the cabin, could almost hear her chortling refrain: And we’ll be jolly friends, forever more.

  The old woman who turned out to be Sammy’s childhood friend, Becca, who was convinced Teilo was going to take away her son. Becca, who told her Sam had been in the woods that night. There are things he hasn’t told you.

  “What did you see, Sam?” Phoebe asked, thinking the question, saying it out loud without meaning to.

  “I didn’t say anything, Bee.”

  “No. See. What did you see, that night in the woods? The night Lisa disappeared?”

  “I wasn’t in the woods,” he said. “I was home. In bed.”

  Lisa laughed again, said happily, like it was a game, “Time to tell the truth, Sammy!”

  “I’d say it’s long past time,” Phoebe said. “Becca said she saw you in the woods that night. She told me to ask you how you got your scar. Now please, Sam, tell me what really happened that night.”

  He gave a deep sigh. “Okay, but it won’t help. I didn’t see what happened to Lisa or anything.” His words were crisp and defensive.

  “Start at the beginning,” Phoebe said. “When did you go into the woods?”

  “Just after Lisa gave me her charm bracelet and left my room. I got up and went after her. I mean, how could I not? She made me promise not to, but she said she was leaving forever. Crossing over to the goddamn fairy world.” He stopped, looking at Lisa in the rearview mirror and biting his lip.

  “So you went after her,” Phoebe said, encouraging him to continue. He’d kept this story secret for fifteen years—now that he’d started, she was going to do everything she could to get him to tell it through to the end.

  “I thought I could stop her.” His voice cracked and faltered. He shook his head. “It was stupid, really. Me thinking I had that kind of power.”

  Phoebe put her hand on his arm. “You were ten, Sam. You did the best you could. What happened once you went into the woods?”

  He nodded, continuing, his voice more hesitant now. “I spotted her by the brook. She was wearing her red hoodie.” He pinched his lips together tightly, as if he was trying to keep the rest of the story in.

  “Did she see you?” Phoebe asked.

  “Yeah. She took off running. I chased her for fifteen minutes, crisscrossing through the woods, going farther and farther from home, from Reliance. It was pitch-black. Darker than dark. I don’t remember ever being afraid of the woods like I was that night. I felt like . . . like the whole forest was against me somehow, helping to protect Lisa. I got snagged on trees, tripped, fell over things, got all banged up. When I finally caught up with her, she turned and swung at me.” Sam clenched his jaw, still staring straight ahead, like he could see the whole scene through the windshield. “Then I saw she had a knife.”

  “What?”

  Sam nodded. When he continued, his words moved quickly, running together. “I jumped back but not fast enough. She got me with the tip of it, right over my collarbone.” He flinched a little, as if his body remembered the shock of the blade cutting into him.

  He let go of the steering wheel with his right hand and moved his fingers under the neckline of his T-shirt, reaching in to touch his scar.

  “Lisa stabbed you? I don’t get it.”

  “Yeah, neither did I.” He took in a breath, and Phoebe watched as his face, his whole body actually, changed. He didn’t look like a scared guy with his defenses down anymore. He looked furious. His face colored; every muscle in his body seemed to tighten as he gripped the steering wheel so hard Phoebe was sure he could break it. “Then I saw that it wasn’t Lisa at all. It was Evie.” He spat out the name like it had left an acid burn on his tongue.

  “Evie?”

  “Yeah. But she was dressed like Lisa. She had on a wig and everything.”

  “But why would Evie want to hurt you?”

  “She was mad. Furious. ‘It’s only you!’ she said. She was wheezing real bad, just sucking at the air. Could barely talk. With her asthma, it must have nearly killed her to run as hard and fast as we had that night.”

  “But why was she dressed like Lisa? And why run from you, then stab you?”

  “I asked her what the hell she was doing, and she said, ‘Saving Lisa.’ She told me I’d ruined everything. ‘If Lisa’s gone forever, it’s your fault, Sammy!’ she said.”

  “So you didn’t see Teilo?” Phoebe asked.

  Sam laughed an are-you-kidding laugh. “No. I didn’t even believe there was a Teilo back then. Shit, Bee, I thought Evie and Lisa were nuts. And I didn’t trust Evie. I thought maybe Lisa had talked her into dressing up, leading me on some wild-goose chase.”

  “But why?”

  Sam’s body relaxed again, and he sank down low in his seat, so low that he looked like a little kid peering out over the top of the steering wheel at the road before them. He bit his lip, which trembled a little. “I guess I always thought she really wanted to leave. And Evie helped her.” He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. “We weren’t enough for her, Bee. We’d all failed her in this really profound way. My father with his suicide, me not believing her, Evie betraying her, Mom and Hazel acting crazy. She chose another life.”

  Phoebe remembered the little boy in the Superman shirt who had gazed down at her through his bedroom window with such absolute sorrow. She saw that same face now as he drove, his eyes focused on some unnameable place in the distance. “What happened next, after Evie stabbed you?”

  Sam sat up straight and glanced at Lisa in the rearview mirror. She was holding very still, listening. “Evie ran down to the cellar hole, and I followed her, but there was no one there. No Fairy King. No Lisa. Just me and Evie. ‘We’re too late!’ Evie said. She was crying, frantic, screaming Lisa’s name over and over. Lisa! Lisa! Lisa!” His voice rose and fell. “We should have stayed. We should have woken up the whole neighborhood, searched the woods. But we didn’t. I didn’t, anyway. I thought Evie was hamming it up, still trying to trick me. Do you know what I did? I went back home to take care of my stupid cut. It wasn’t even all that deep. I washed it out, put a bandage on. Then I went back to my room and tossed and turned all night. I think part of me knew she was really gone, knew what a fucking coward
I was.”

  They were silent for a long moment. Phoebe thought of a dozen things to say to offer comfort, but they all seemed empty and useless.

  “There’s one thing I still don’t get,” she said at last. “How did Pinkie know you were in the woods that night?”

  “I saw her when I was coming out.” Sam’s voice was evening out, sounding more like matter-of-fact Sam. “She and Gerald were going in. They saw I was hurt, but I didn’t tell them what happened.”

  “And where was Evie?”

  “She stayed in the woods, looking for Lisa. I heard her sneak back into the house just before dawn.”

  “And you never told anyone else you were in the woods that night? Your mom? The police? You never said anything about Evie stabbing you?”

  Sam shook his head. “The next morning, when it was pretty clear Lisa was really gone, Evie and I talked it over. She convinced me that it wouldn’t do any good to tell. That it would just make us both look like we were involved in some way—that we knew more than we were saying.”

  Sam looked over at Phoebe, blew out a long breath. “I know it sounds crazy, and to this day I can’t say exactly why I went along with her. I mean, this was the girl who’d just stabbed me! On some level, I believed what Evie said that night—that it was somehow my fault that Lisa was gone. I felt guilty. I thought admitting that I’d been in the woods would make me seem even guiltier.” He shook his head as if at his own stupidity.

  “Jesus, Sam, you were only ten years old, a little boy! Your sister had disappeared, your dad was dying, and you were scared shitless. Of course you went along with whatever she said.”

  Sam didn’t reply. Phoebe could tell from his face that the guilt had stayed with him—he’d been carrying it around for fifteen years, wondering if Lisa might still be here if he’d done things differently that night. Phoebe leaned over and gave him a hug, kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, “for telling me what happened.”

  “I should have done it ages ago. It’s just, when you keep a secret for so long . . . it just gets stronger, you know? Harder to tell.”